


Will's Forgiveness

by kronette



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Episode Related, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 05:30:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14909256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kronette/pseuds/kronette
Summary: A retelling of Dolce from the moment Will and Hannibal step out of the Uffizi Gallery.





	Will's Forgiveness

The blade slid into Hannibal’s side, ripping through fabric and flesh. Will had made sure the blade was sharp and clean and his movements subtle. Hannibal misstepped—hardly noticeable by anyone who didn’t know him, but Will saw the flash of pain in his eyes. Betrayal. Hurt that went beyond the physical. 

_Good_. 

Will flicked the knife closed and slid it into his pocket, leaving his hand curled around it. He ducked his head, hiding his mouth from watchful eyes as he pitched his voice so only Hannibal could hear him. “Jack insisted on bringing the police. Chiyoh is being detained. Don’t give away that you’re hurt.” 

“Your forgiveness tastes bitter,” Hannibal replied as they continued walking. 

Will tensed as Hannibal’s hands shifted inside his pockets, but relaxed once he saw that Hannibal was hiding the growing bloodstain on his shirt. Will casually steered them toward the edge of the courtyard, out of Jack’s direct line of sight. “I’m feeling particularly bitter. I _was_ pushed off a train last night and walked a good twenty minutes before finding an alternate means to get into Florence.” 

Will felt the curiosity pouring off of Hannibal and the question burning his tongue before he spoke. “Did the alternate means have a name?” 

The flare of anger went as quickly as it came, leaving Will feeling and sounding drained. “I didn’t ask.” 

They continued silently out of the courtyard, Will leading them toward his hotel, but once in a crowded area, turning away from his hotel and Hannibal’s apartment. “Do you have anywhere we could go?” 

Hannibal said nothing for a minute, but his presence was heavy at Will’s side. “Bedelia?”

“Has secured her own alibi,” Will uttered with disgust. He kept walking, though now without a clear destination. All around him, people blurred and faded to shadows, ancient buildings no more than shapes that never loomed closer. He silently bade Hannibal to speak; to end the tension that stretched between them. 

When Hannibal finally broke the silence, Will’s breath caught in his chest. “Am I to survive this encounter?” The question was blithely asked, as if the answer truly didn’t matter. 

“Am I?” Will countered as they turned down another street. “Forgiveness and betrayal have been our staples for so long. I want it to end here, now, with my forgiveness of you.” He stopped and looked down at the ground, waiting for Hannibal to turn to him. He met those amber eyes unflinchingly, the thrum of understanding passing between them, but an undercurrent of darkness promised further pain and suffering. “We engaged in a battle of intellect with neither of us victorious and both of us scarred. You saw me as betrayer of our friendship because I did my job and I bled for it. I saw you as betrayer of our friendship while I was caged for your crimes and you bled for it. You expected something from me that I was unable to give at that time.” 

Hannibal’s sharp focus slid deep beneath his skin, touching parts of him Hannibal’s blade had missed, parts that Will thought he had protected but now lay exposed and vulnerable. That vulnerability found its way into his voice, rattling his confidence. “My trip to Europe was not a single journey, but a labyrinth of paths suppressed and terrifying. They have converged in an awakening and an acceptance.” 

Completely closed off, Hannibal’s expression thwarted Will’s every attempt to detect a hint of what he was thinking. 

“Solgliato.”

The word meant nothing to Will but he followed when Hannibal started to walk, letting the silence settle between them once again. Wondering if he said too much or not enough, Will’s mind raced as Hannibal’s determined steps brought them to a residential building. 

Will hung back as Hannibal entered the residence, part caution and part observing the slowness at which Hannibal moved. Blood had soaked his shirt and spread to the waist of his trousers, but Will couldn’t allow himself to empathize with how Hannibal felt. He had to keep a clear head to see this through. 

Hannibal moved through the house with familiarity and Will gave a fleeting thought to the previous owners: if they’d known Hannibal or had merely been rude in passing. 

He roused himself from his self-imposed distance when Hannibal returned to the dining room table with a first aid kit and carefully removed his jacket. Not a trace of physical pain showed in Hannibal’s expression, but his movements were slow as he rolled up his sweater and attempted to twist to see the cut. 

With a delicate huff of annoyance, Will crossed the room. Uncomfortably aware of the position he was putting himself in, he knelt at Hannibal’s side and held up the heavy fabric. “It’s about three inches long, jagged, dark blood clotting along the edges,” he described, keeping all inflection out of his voice lest he be misunderstood. Will pressed his fingertips gently around the wound, tracking the new drops of blood as they trickled down to be absorbed by Hannibal’s trousers. “Do you need a mirror to see if it needs stitches?” 

He could feel Hannibal’s stare weighting him down, pressing his knees into the rug and trying to bend his shoulders to his will. “I can feel that it does,” Hannibal answered after a measured silence. “How good are your sewing skills?” 

“The fish haven’t complained about my fly tying,” Will replied dryly, flipping open the first aid kit. He assembled what he needed, unsurprised when Hannibal refused anything to numb the pain. 

Hannibal eased himself into a chair, draping his right arm over the back to give Will room to work. Hannibal remained stoic through Will’s cleaning of the wound, but when the needle pierced skin, he couldn’t mask the pinch around his eyes. Will concentrated on making the stitches even and small, ignoring the scent of blood and warm skin beneath his fingertips. 

Will’s shirt clung to his sweat-dampened skin, his closeness to Hannibal both stifling and inadequate. When he was finished, his hands had a fine tremor as he pressed them against Hannibal’s skin, smoothing along Hannibal’s belly and back beneath the ruined shirt. He raised up on his knees and rested his forehead along Hannibal’s clavicle, tasting his heartbeat in his throat. “This is the last mark I want to leave on you,” he murmured into the soft fabric. “One given by my own hand.” 

A shiver passed over Will’s body as Hannibal’s arm settled hesitantly over his shoulders, enclosing him in the tight space and making breathing even more difficult. “Are we truly even now, Will?” Hannibal asked, his voice a husky rasp. 

Will felt fingers close around his shoulder, the lightest touch feeling like bricks landing on his skin through his suit. “That’s up to you,” he replied, raising his head to seek out Hannibal’s intense stare. So much hurt, so much shared pain; everything between them was _too much_ …

The trembling lips against his were soft, barely there, but Will felt that touch in every molecule in his body. His gut did a slow flip as he increased the pressure to still the trembling, one hand coming up to rest against Hannibal’s neck. 

He tightened his fingers when Hannibal made to pull away, dragging his tongue along the seam of Hannibal’s lips until they parted and Will got his first taste. He mapped heat, resentment, caution and relief on Hannibal’s tongue, each flavor catalogued and dismissed, chasing something sweeter; darker. 

He was crushed to Hannibal’s chest as _yearning_ burst over his tongue, notes of bitterness pairing with heavy, cloying sweetness. 

A coppery tang disturbed the intoxicating blend and Will eased back, unable to go far as Hannibal tightened his grip on the back of his head. The smear of blood that painted Hannibal’s lips from the reopened cut on his mouth drew Will’s gaze. “You’re bleeding,” he murmured, not caring about the incongruity of his observation. 

Hannibal’s eyes crinkled with laughter he didn’t vocalize. “That is twice today you have breached my defenses and drawn my life’s vitality from me. If I am to be flayed alive, I wish it only by your hand; no other.” 

Will studied Hannibal’s eyes: softened, darker, hungry and sated, they spoke of contentment and pleasure, patience and restraint. He thought of the broken heart; the broken man. Hannibal’s offering. His gift. 

His fingers trailed over Hannibal’s roughened cheek, watching as the skin puckered beneath the pressure of his fingertips. “I want your life, not your blood or death,” Will breathed before drawing their mouths together in a deep, passionate kiss. 

When they parted, Hannibal’s eyes were the darkest black and _ravenous_ , and Will’s breath came in short, agonized bursts of arousal. “My boat will be watched by now,” Will groaned softly, touching their foreheads together, not bothering to explain. He and Hannibal shared the same thoughts; the same desires. They needed to get out of Italy as quickly as possible to avoid Jack and the police. 

“I can get us wherever you’d like to go,” Hannibal assured him, rubbing fingertips gently against his scalp and through his hair. Soothing. Calming. Claiming.

“Lithuania.” It hadn’t occurred to Will until that very moment, but he’d created the dragonfly man not just for himself, but for Hannibal. Continuing their courtship. “I left something of myself there for you.” 

Pride glowed softly in Hannibal’s expression. Chiyoh must have told him about the prisoner. How Will had set him free and arranged for Chiyoh to kill him, but not about his tableau. Chiyoh had not seen it, had not wanted anything to do with him until their departure from Lecter Estate. 

Curiosity supplanted pride as Hannibal whispered, “Then we have both left something of ourselves in my past. Perhaps it is time to reclaim what we have lost.” 

Will stared at Hannibal’s blood-stained mouth, his voice cracking as he declared, “I’m no longer lost,” sliding his lips against Hannibal’s again. 

This kiss was brief, a promise of _later_ lingering on their lips as Will cleaned up from their makeshift surgery and Hannibal found a change of clothes. 

Will fit himself against Hannibal’s side as Hannibal held out his arm, bringing them close together as they left the house, Florence, and their present behind.

The End


End file.
